


Flavors Both Strong And Weak

by MaK



Category: Homestuck
Genre: F/F, Past Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-21
Updated: 2014-08-21
Packaged: 2018-02-14 02:35:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,200
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2174901
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MaK/pseuds/MaK
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Kanaya is intoxicatingly loving, though a bit confusing from Roxy's lonely perspective.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Flavors Both Strong And Weak

Kanaya didn't care for alcohol, not much; she described it as too strong and terribly bitter - which didn't make any sense to you, but you figured you'd let her make her own decisions. To her, not drinking alcohol is the same as not drinking coffee and taking her tea plain. All the rest has to much of a bang that she can't bare to have in her mouth for more than a few moments. You don't mind, not really. Her refusing alcohol actually helps you deal with the late night calls to the empty liquor cabinet and the mid afternoon day dreams of the drug's store cheapest beer. The tea, as far as you're concerned, is pretty terrible and coffee is definitely superior, but that argument has become a dry topic. 

Regardless of her help, you still find yourself struggling to stay in bed when she finds herself spending extra time at the library - for the shittiest pay, too. As much as you tell her to, she just won't quit working there. And the nights where she works late, checking in books and organizing shelves, are when you are most vulnerable and truthfully fearful. You'd like to think you're strong, but having her to hold onto when you get those devilish cravings never fails to assist in healing you. At the core, you are fragile and, most of all, you are thirsty. 

What once was doused in mixed beverages and regretful bottles of strange liquors is a partially filled hole, one that only wants to consume and continue doing so until it will one day reach it's endless limits and toss it all back up to repeat the process. Kanaya has managed to fill some of that hole for you with love that's less toxic than alcohol's kiss; her affections fill you to the brim with how sweet and powerful they can be. Ironic, you feel, because she prefers her beverages bland and close to flavorless. 

That's why you feel empty when she's gone and even when she's there. You have spent more than half your life surrounded with drinks that tasted strong enough to burn your nostrils and incinerate your throat, nothing you drank had ever just been bland. Even your coffee filled hangovers were thickly covered in vanilla creamers and spoonfuls of sugars, anything strong enough to wash the rest away. You're fearful that she'll stop filling up whatever continual thirst lives on in you because of these things; because she detests what you drink but still engulfs you every night she comes home and every morning she wakes up. You're scared that such a routine, one so different from her's, will grow tiresome and boring. And those things are also too strong, even when they represent the opposite. 

Sometimes, you consider the possibility of Kanaya already knowing these things and trashing it as unbelievable and thinking to herself how she could leave you over such long winded nonsense. You'd like to think she has drank this knowledge with her hooked fangs and slices tongue, swallowing gulp after gulp of your fears. As if somehow your blood, the only strong beverage she has ever taken a liking to, can tell her your most private thoughts and deepest fears. Maybe the metallic taste, once plastered over her tongue, spreads the messages all through her body for her to digest and think over.

Of course, that's ridiculous. Her stomach and not her tongue and hook fangs act at all like her second brain and your blood cannot transmute what you can barely put into words. You wish so much that it could, so you wouldn't have to verbally stumble all over yourself to simply explain that you're thankful for her being able to put up with such a person so different from herself. Someone who is so wanting and full of a lust that borders on cruel and so terribly wanting for something to drink, to somehow get rid of the insistent dehydration that fills them. Where as she, with her balanced thoughts and careful appearance, is persistent and keeping herself satisfied with no problems. Kanaya isn't the person you would see mentally dragging themselves across a barren desert in search of something to fill some kind of endless hole inside of her. No, she has all holes plugged. 

As troubling as they are, these thoughts do drift away. You begin to focus more on how cold the bed is and how empty your stomach is, similar to the unused liquor cabinet that eerily calls your name, or how much cheerier the apartment would be if Kanaya's crummy boss would let her leave for the night. She would fill the bed with her following warmth and fill your insatiable thirst with a simple greeting, but one that is so her that you can't mistake it. A million and one people can say good evening, but none quite as fulfilling as Kanaya can. Yes, a home with her is the only home you could ever possibly want. 

Worst of all, you fall asleep before she gets home. It's two in the morning and your last thought is who keeps a library open so late and why would Kanaya sit there and deal with such crazy hours. It would figure that the smell of boiled noodles and alfredo sauce flow through the entire room as soon as you hear a door open and shut at what your phone tells you is four in the morning. Kanaya joins you on the bed and hands you the late night dinner - alfredo that has been filled to the brim with sauce and grated cheese. In turn, all Kanaya has is plain white rice. Not a hint of soy sauce or even some pepper near her little bowl. 

While you eat and smile at her, you can't help but feel reminded of how different you two are. Kanaya with her simplistic teas and plain rice when you're across the table with the most complicated Starbucks coffee and a bowl of noodles that has been positively layered with all sorts of delicious flavors. Though it is a stretch, you like to imagine your frustrating food and drink choices indicate how severely messy you are on the inside. Somehow, they represent your chaotic inner turmoil with only a glance at the menu and a few selective toppings. To contrast from your hazardous emotions, Kanaya's simple selection of foods and unflavored drinks represent how she's gotten herself figured out. She knows the deepest part of herself and has been the to heal and came back from the depths to enjoy. Plain rice and unsweetened tea meant she was confident and a Starbucks with seventy different additives and flavorful noodles meant your were a bit of a mess on the inside. 

You figure she gets her flavor from just drinking you in when curled up in bed, no blood required. She manages to take part of your burdens and make it her own to carry, taking a piece of you and swallowing it whole. Maybe that's why she can deal with somehow who is so different from her in taste, because she can turn that flavor into something worth sharing.

**Author's Note:**

> written from stress


End file.
